the first thing i did
when i got a new car
was drive past your place.
muttering that there was
no other way to go,
no route better,
to get me where i want to go.

i refused to look to the side,
keeping my eyes on the road,
and a lie in my throat.
but i felt your apartment slide by.
like a blade of a finger sliding down
a long stretch of thigh.

you haven't lived there in ages
and i haven't sat on that balcony in twice the number,
but driving by brings you closer somehow.
brings your blurred memory into focus.

you're happy with a someone,
i'm content with a whomever,
and we haven't been us in ages,
but,
despite all,
i tell myself,
there is no better way to go,
no better route to take,
to get me where i want to go.